


Found

by SomeRainMustFall



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeRainMustFall/pseuds/SomeRainMustFall
Summary: One year after Watkins, Malcolm still sometimes needs a reminder that he's safe.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 76
Collections: Prodigal Son Holidays Fic Exchange





	Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zoejoy24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoejoy24/gifts).



> ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Malcolm doesn’t recall how he ended up on the floor. 

There are hands on him, and he doesn’t like it. He wants them gone. He flinches and grunts, and they go, leaving him in a void alone.

He’s so _confused_. He’s not even entirely certain where he is _—who_ he is—until slowly, familiar voices get through the ringing in his ears. 

“...kid…”

“...Bright, hey...it’s okay…”

...Gil. Dani. Safe. _Safe._ Those are safe. 

“Should I—do we need a bus?” 

JT. 

_Safe_. 

He shakes his head, unable to speak. Ambulance is _not_ safe. Hospital is _not safe,_ drugs and restraints are _not—_

“Just hang on, no, hang on…” Gil sounds so far away, but then his warm hands are on Malcolm’s shoulders, steadying him. They squeeze gently, and another hand comes to rest upon the middle of his back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles. 

“Just breathe,” Gil murmurs. “No hospital. Just us. We’re right here.”

He finally takes a breath, sharp and desperate, and doesn't know when he last did. He opens his eyes, welcoming in light after so much darkness, welcoming in the sight of his team, his friends, his family. 

Gil is before him, head tilted as he looks him over. Dani is behind him, the one making it easier to breathe. JT is crouched to his right, and when he notices Malcolm blinking and _seeing_ he reaches out, offering him a box of tissues.

He was... _crying?_ His face is wet, and his eyes hurt…

“I’m…” he says at last, taking a tissue with another shaky breath. “ _Sorry._ I don’t…” 

“Don’t be sorry,” JT says, and Malcolm nearly starts to cry again at how _soft_ his voice is, how kind they’re all being to him after…

His memory returns all at once, makes him flinch and suck air in through his nose. He glances around, and finds they’re alone in Gil’s office, the doors shut, blinds drawn. He wasn’t here before. No, he was...in the conference room, where there had been food, and decorations, a small party on Christmas Eve, and he was trying to fit in, to smile against his anxiety, to make the other officers maybe stop looking at him like they see all the blood on his hands, and…

He’d seen something. Something, something...he can’t…

 _An angel_. He’d seen an angel. On the tiny little tree in the middle of the table, adorned with ornaments, one of them had taken his breath away, slammed him with the feeling of a blade twisting fire-hot in his chest and the image of John Watkins standing above him, watching him bleed out with that sickening smile.

He remembers screaming, now. Nothing else. They must have had to carry him in here...had he fainted? Or just been too engulfed in the past to pay attention? Oh, God, he's sorry...he's so sorry, he's so _embarrassed_.

And he’s still afraid. His anxiety has been edging into something incapacitating the last week, as the date of Watkins taking him last year got closer, and he’s been trying _so hard_ to ignore it…

And now he's ruined everything. The others will never like him, now. The team is in here, taking care of him instead of having fun out there.

He starts to fold back into himself. Tries to, anyway, in his shame, but Gil doesn’t let him. Instead Gil pulls him close, into a hug. Dani moves, too, and suddenly her arms are around both of them, her cheek against Malcolm’s shoulder.

“You’re here,” Gil says. “Safe. Not with him. Not anymore, and not ever again.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Malcolm mumbles, and then lets out a ragged little sob. “I d-didn’t mean to…I’m—”

“Bright,” JT says, holding onto Malcolm’s other shoulder and squeezing it. “If you say sorry again, we’re gonna have a problem.”

“Seriously,” Dani adds, muffled against Malcolm’s coat. “I’ll kick your ass.” 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Gil finishes, kissing his head, and Malcolm smiles, even as he sniffles through a few more tears, and relaxes a little more. 

He feels...so safe. So protected, so _loved_. He’s never had something like this, something so...good. So wonderful. So... _his_.

No, Watkins could never, ever get him here. His family has him, now.

“Th-thank you,” he whispers, and he means it more than he could ever explain in words or expensive gifts or store-bought cards.

Later they’ll exchange them, and laugh, and Edrisa will show him the cookies she decorated just for him, and one of the officers will stick reindeer antlers on Gil’s head and snap a picture before he can bat them off. Malcolm will go home with trinkets and make a place for them in his home because they’re more important than any meaningless decoration he has, and he won’t feel quite so alone whenever he looks at them.

It almost hurts that they’ll never quite know just how much he cares for them, but then…

He curls closer, and feels warmer than he has in a long time, and thinks, maybe, they already do.


End file.
